


Rivers At the Bottom of Reality

by sparklight



Category: Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, Historical RPF
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Family Bonding, Gen, Grief/Mourning, The Hazards of Being Way Too Pretty, and also bad at proper disguises
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-12
Updated: 2020-10-16
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26974186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparklight/pseuds/sparklight
Summary: Wise men say you never step into the same river twice, and time is much like running water, impossible to grasp and yet the most constant part of your life. It's something Ganymede is very grateful for, when everything else that isn’t of the Deathless Ones have long since disappeared. The rivers – and the Rivers – are still there for him to return to, no matter the time that's passed.He's even more grateful when what should be a quiet memorial visit turns slightly sideways with unexpected company on the top of Troy's hill.
Relationships: Ganymede & Scamander | Xanthos (Ancient Greek Religion & Lore)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12





	1. Ganymede's Grandfather

Over two thousand six hundred years since Troy fell, and Ganymede was visiting for the first time.

Well, all right. That wasn't entirely true. He'd gone with Hebe and Eros in the middle of the night sometime while the Roman town of Ilium had still existed. Gone in the middle of the night so he wouldn't actually have to see that city, know it was standing on the bones of his childhood home, that people were living here as if the war had never happened, as if it didn't matter. The upwelling of tearful fury from that visit, as well as the very sincere urge to ask Zeus to wipe the town off the map, had both scared and shamed him and had driven Ganymede away. Had kept him away since then, until now.

So here he was now, knees tight about Pegasus' sides, hands tangled in his thick mane, and leaned close over the strong, graceful neck to keep himself out of the wind as much as possible, as well as to keep an eye on the view below. Even so, he almost had them fly past the stretch of coast Troy had been standing on entirely, and it was only the sight of the citadel hill that alerted him that they were at their goal.

"... Where is _the inlet_?" Ganymede exclaimed, confusion and hot indignation bubbling up as he stared down at the ground, leaning so that Pegasus circled around the area instead of hurtling onwards. There was nothing but grassy plain below where there once had been water. The impatient snort from the creature he was sitting on stirred Ganymede out of his distraction and he shook his head. "Nevermind. Find some place along that river where you'd like to wait."

He pointed down towards the glimmering band of the Scamander winding its way through a plain that was much larger than Ganymede remembered it to be. No matter that it'd been so very long since Troy stood on that hill with its shallow harbour! Ganymede yelped as Pegasus wheeled around on the spot and dove with eager alacrity, just barely burying both hands back into the mane before he started to slide. "Hey!"

Pegasus turned his head just slightly and nickered, definitely mockingly. Ganymede huffed and lightly smacked his heels against Pegasus' sides, and then they both settled. The descent from there was as smooth as being carried by an attentive Wind, barely any jarring when Pegasus met the ground. Ganymede wasn't afraid of Pegasus throwing him off, not any more. In the beginning he'd certainly been wary and wondered how stupid he was to attempt it, even after Zeus had sternly told the animal that if he did anything to harm Ganymede he would live to regret it, but that was a long time ago. They had an understanding, now, and had for a good long while. They both enjoyed this, especially since Ganymede didn't attempt to ride Pegasus with either saddle or bridle. Pegasus just had a terminal case of needing to mess with _anyone_ on his back, and the only concession to the fact that it was Ganymede was that Pegasus was a little more careful about how he did it. While also pretending he wasn't, and Ganymede let him keep the pretence of it.

They landed in a slightly swampy riverside meadow, a majestic view of the ocean on one side and, in the distance, on the plain that shouldn't be there, a fort being built. Ganymede squinted at it as he swung himself off Pegasus and patted his flank in silent thanks. Well, if there had to be buildings near to the ruins of Troy, at least they weren't right on top of the citadel hill and the stretch of plain right around the hill where the lower city had been. It wasn't much of a comfort, honestly, but Ganymede knew he was being slightly ridiculous. Troy, as he remembered it, had stood on and around that hill so very long ago by now.

It was just hard to let go.

Leaving Pegasus behind to rip out mouthfuls of grass to his heart's content, Ganymede crossed the slightly squishy ground until he could squat down on a clear bit of sandy shore, dipping his fingertips into the water. The Scamander was shallow here, lazily winding itself towards the sea at a much greater distance than it would've taken it to reach the ocean when Ganymede was little. Looking across the flow of it, then down along it, Ganymede smiled and smacked his hand against the water.

"Grandfather? Do you have some time?" Ridiculous question, and Ganymede laughed as he heard the sigh before Xanthos himself took shape out of the water in the middle of the river, walking out from it and reaching down to pull Ganymede up into a hug. Despite that he'd just taken shape, he was as dry as if he'd been standing in the sun for hours.

"What a question, Ganymede. Why wouldn't I have time for you?"

Xanthos' eyes were deeply still and green, and the hand on his cheek was large and smooth, with just a hint of callouses at the tips, never fully realized. Familiar, and Ganymede smiled brightly. "I don't know, you _do_ have a couple twin daughters at the moment!"

He'd met them just last year, and they were cute as fluffy-feathered baby birds. And about as noisy, too, like two energetic springs spilling up water against rocks. Each of them had eagerly pointed out their springs on Mount Ida, pleased as anything to drag him around.

"They do take a lot of attention," Xanthos agreed wryly, gesturing for them to sit down. "But not enough I wouldn't have any for my grandson, especially here and now." 

Ganymede, not precisely ready yet to acknowledge out loud why he was here, nodded silently and sat down, leaning against his grandfather for a moment. He was slightly cool, even in the sunlight, tall and solid. Shaking himself, Ganymede leaned forward to pull off his boots and push up the ballooning hems of the trousers so he could stick his feet into the water. Above and next to him, Xanthos chuckled, dropping an arm around his shoulders.

"There's no one near the hill, why go to such lengths?" Xanthos asked as he tipped his head, raising his hand to brush fingers along the bottom of the turban Ganymede currently wore.

"Just in case someone sees." Shrugging, Ganymede held his arms out, studying the silken flow of the fabric of his sleeves. Not embroidered, which gave the caftan the illusion of being simpler and less fine than it actually was. "I figure anyone who'd be interested in bothering a lone boy would be less eager to do so like this."

It'd been a judgement call between dressing ostentatiously enough he might be mistaken for an Ottoman noble - weird, out in the countryside like this, and he didn't think the almost-finished fort in the distance would change that - or a peasant, who might reasonably be more invisible... if he didn't look like he did. But, anyway, the risk of being seen and interrupted when he went up to the hill seemed minimal. Aside from the fort, the nearest village and fields being worked weren't so close he'd risk meeting anyone but someone potentially out hunting.

"By the way," Ganymede said slowly, looking around them again with a little frown returning to mar his face, " _where_ is the inlet?"

He could not help the complaint in his tone, and his grandfather looked down at him for a moment, eyebrows arched. Then he snorted, smiling as he patted his shoulder.

"You know rivers deposit sediment, Ganymede." There was warm sympathy in Xanthos' voice, but a certain amount of wryness, too.

"Yes, but---" He sighed, gesturing with a hand at the view, unable to quite express how _wrong_ this looked to him. If he'd paid greater attention through the years this wouldn't have come as such a surprise, really. It was just, so much as looking in the direction of the area that had once been known as the Troad had hurt for so long. Still did. He just couldn't do it. "It's impressive, though."

Ganymede smiled, a little reluctantly, but when he spotted the edge of pleased pride in his grandfather's expression his smile widened and lost the restrained edge. It really was impressive, how not a bit of the inlet was left to be seen, and all there was was a plain where there'd long before been water. Grass and bushes and trees scattered over the ground from the hill to the new coastline, and it looked as if this was all there'd ever been. The Scamander wasn't a particularly large river, besides, so honestly, maybe it was even more impressive what had been done during thousands of years. That still seemed too little time to fill up all this land like this. His grandfather really was amazing, in a way.

With a little sigh, he slumped against Xanthos and rested his cheek against the firm shoulder, closing his eyes as his grandfather pulled him closer. They sat there for a quiet few minutes, listening to the whisper of water winding its way past them, wind ruffling through the long grass and reeds along the shore, as well as Pegasus' quiet snorts as he wandered the meadow behind them, content as anything with the rich grass and sunlight. He might not currently be eating ambrosia, but maybe Pegasus found some delight in the regular grass. He had, after all, spent his initial time eating nothing but what horses might otherwise eat on Earth, only tasting ambrosial feed after coming to Olympos.

"Do you think," Ganymede whispered after a while, switching to a language familiar to both of them and yet halting through the first couple words but growing steadier as he continued, "I should have... have come here sooner?"

He faltered with his words so seldom, but this was about Troy, about the hole left behind, and Ganymede couldn't yet see when he wouldn't falter over this particular topic, both for how it still hurt and, for this in particular, a creeping guilt that he _hadn't_ come back here earlier. 

If he'd had no other way to see his grandfather as well as great-grandfather, Ganymede knew he would've made the attempt much earlier, just perhaps as far away from the site of the city as possible, but he hadn't had to do that. The river gods came up to Olympos most pleased to do so, and they were more than welcome. As such, it'd been easy to let his pain keep him away, even for such a long time. Maybe the fact that he'd had the chance to drag it out unto forever if he'd so chosen hadn't helped.

"Ganymede." Xanthos sighed, squeezing him closer. "If you truly couldn't ever have faced your place of birth again, neither I nor Simoeis would've held it against you." 

The Luwian slipped off Xanthos’ tongue like well-worn clothes, familiar and perfect. Ganymede sucked in a harsh breath but kept anything from spilling over, the threatening heat receding to sit in his stomach, uncomfortable but wanted.

"The destruction of Troy wasn't a simple matter, and not even being razed in a war, as many cities are, is quite the same as what happened here. There was fate and necessity aplenty, making the whole matter heavier yet, and then the company of the deathless gods to complicate affairs further. You're a compassionate young man; I would've been more surprised if you'd have been able to come here close to the destruction, though perhaps that, and the emotions from it, might have been better for you."

Shifting a little against his grandfather, feeling heat creep up on his cheeks, Ganymede opened his eyes and tipped his head so he could glance up at Xanthos from the corner of his eye, biting his lip. He didn’t want to confess, but some morbidly contrary urge wanted to point out how Xanthos was wrong, about this one thing at least. 

"The one time I went here, with Hebe and Eros, I almost asked Zeus to destroy the Roman town..."

He did not feel proud over that urge, and didn't find it funny even so long after it'd happened, though Eros and even Hebe found some amusement in it. Hebe, at least, knew how he felt about it and wouldn't bring it up to him. Xanthos blinked, eyes and face blank for a moment before a wry little smile spread on his lips, the edge of it disappearing into the beard he now once again wore, though longer than he ever had before.

"I see we're not so different, dear grandson," he said, and it was Ganymede's turn to blink, straightening up so he could look to his grandfather more properly. The question was probably clear on his face, for Xanthos chuckled. "Both I and Simoeis were fully minded to flood out and drown the first who returned to take possession of the ruins. We went to Zeus to petition him for it, and to ask Poseidon for assistance. He did not give his permission."

Xanthos shook his head, looking out past the plain and towards the hill in the distance. "Perhaps just as well. They didn't stay long, and after that the site was abandoned for a long while until there was new settlement in the area."

"... You truly did that?" Ganymede couldn't decide what he thought about it, but while he felt no more proud over his own long-gone urge, it did make him feel a little better about having had it at all when he hadn't been alone in harbouring it. He hadn't, at least, actually asked Zeus for such a boon. He was pretty sure that, compared to Xanthos and Simoeis, Zeus might have given in to him, and then he really would've felt even more terrible than he already had about the matter afterwards.

"It might take me a bit to anger, Ganymede, but the whole business had left me - us, to be fair, as much as Simoeis is a fair better hand at remaining aloof than I - rather sore about it." Xanthos shrugged, the tiniest of sneers tugging on his mouth. "To be sure it was more our family I was upset over than the city specifically, but the whole of it was distasteful, and there was at least potentially more room to be angry about it afterwards."

The whole last month or so of the war had been too tied up in fate and angry goddesses of greater status than a pair of river gods for them to be able to do much. Afterwards, who cared about Troy, about the site and the dead and what was left? Sighing, Ganymede nodded, slowly shifting his foot and watching the water lap about his toes and set little waves on the still surface.

"I'm... not glad, but it feels better to know I wasn't alone in a similar urge. I _am_ glad I didn't ask, though."

His grandfather squeezed his shoulder, saying nothing for a little while. When he finally spoke up, it was about something tangentially related, but otherwise leaving a topic that was clearly still uncomfortable for Ganymede behind. Not that talking about Troy wasn't always similarly unpleasant, but he was here to start facing it, so ignoring it until he stood up to go to the hill wouldn't actually be useful.

"Do you want company?"

Did he?

Ganymede watched the water, sunlight shimmering across the surface and the clouds reflected in it, then looked up, across the plain and towards the empty hill, the empty land around that hill, and slowly shook his head.

"Not... this time, Grandfather. I think I need to go there alone, at least today. You'll wait for me?" Ganymede asked, feeling his chest tighten like a vise for no good reason at all. There was really no question that Xanthos would wait, even if Ganymede hadn't explicitly asked for it. His grandfather wouldn't leave him without, at the very least, saying goodbye, and this was a lot heavier than just a farewell after a meeting up on Olympos.

"Of course." No exasperation, no annoyance, just a warm weight in the two words that somehow did encompass and exemplify that 'of course'. Of course he would. Why wouldn't he? 

Ganymede found himself laughing, a wavering, stupid laugh, and twisted around so he could bury his face against his grandfather's shoulder and throw his arms around him. Ganymede was enveloped in a firm hug, his nose soon filled with the faintest scent of what could most simply be termed wetness, though not in the way one was left utterly soaked while walking through an unrelenting autumn storm, and neither the smell that came during and after a rain, wet and green. It was something else, though similar to that. Ganymede had never quite been able to put a finger on it, though it came close to the time he'd yanked out some water weeds while swimming in the Scamander one summer, curiously sticking his tongue to the slick, green weeds. Without the sliminess, of course.

"My daughter's son," Xanthos murmured, pulling back only slowly after a long while, cradling Ganymede's face in his hands. The bright green of the river god's eyes twisted between aching dullness and a subdued light from within as his gaze wandered over Ganymede's face, conflicting emotions reflecting in his eyes like water reflects the weather the sky holds. "For all the pain and the loss of the house I put so much of my blood into, and perhaps because of it, I am glad to have some part of it still here, after so long. Even more so now that even the bones of the city as we knew it, and the home that guarded you and generations after, are covered by the earth."

Ganymede scrounged up a smile against the twist in his heart, and Xanthos' expression softened. "As well as the gift of seeing something of my daughter still living in the world."

Sucking in a startled, half-choked breath, Ganymede squeezed his eyes shut quickly, but it wasn't soon enough. Large thumbs wiped the tears away, and more didn't fall, but it threatened, like a burning coal lodged in his throat. They usually did not talk about any of the most immediate family between them, even less Callirrhoe, but perhaps that made the reminder, as well as the memories that bubbled up, all the more lethally sharp and clear. 

"Do you regret having gi---"

"Ganymede," Xanthos' said, his voice a sudden and surprisingly deep rumble. Ganymede flushed and would have looked away, ducked his head, if he'd been able, but his grandfather didn't let go. "Callirrhoe would certainly have been alive for longer had she not married into a human life and lifetime, bearing mortal children that she each gifted some of herself to, but it was an honour to marry her to your father, descended from Zeus as he was. And there was already a granddaughter of mine in the line of Dardanos, married _to_ Dardanos before that. I would have been invested either way, and your mother never regretted anything. Don't ask ridiculous questions."

Wetting his lips, Ganymede grimaced, but nodded. Still, he couldn't help it, now that he'd asked, so even as he apologised more of the same spilled out. "Sorry, Grandfather. But--- Does Simoeis?"

His great-grandfather had always been harder to read, more aloof, rougher, than Xanthos, and though Ganymede had never noticed any difference in how the river god acted towards him, he wondered, still. Xanthos, compared to his previous and instantaneous reprimand, now chuckled wryly - sheepishly, almost, though he was too collected and dignified for such a word to truly apply.

"Ah. My brother is harder, and regrets more easily, no matter what a contradiction that is." Shaking his head, long hair rippling and catching the sunlight like water, Xanthos gently stroked Ganymede's cheek and then finally let go, if only to embrace him once again. "And he was certainly deeply bitter about it, after Troy's destruction, though Aeneas' survival soothed his wounded heart some. Rest assured, however, that if it came down to your being or not being here right now, he would not wish you anywhere else. Which necessitates his involvement in the family at least once, even if he might also think it better if you had not caught Father Zeus' eye."

That, Ganymede could see, and his laugh this time was easier. Closing his eyes, Ganymede made no move to remove himself from his grandfather's arms despite that he had places to be. Talking about this had stirred other thoughts. This was perhaps not quite as awful of one as Troy and long-gone family, but it was nearly so, and it touched on something Ganymede mostly had no need to acknowledge. Mostly he forgot he harboured such a fear entirely, which was a relief.

"Well, I'm glad for that. I'm really glad, too, that you _are_ here, to wait for me, Grandfather," Ganymede whispered, his throat thickening until it briefly closed up right at the end. Xanthos shifted against him, and Ganymede could practically feel the frown that was surely on his grandfather's face, hearing the weight in the words even if Ganymede hadn't yet spelled the whole thing out. He decided to continue before his grandfather could interrupt him. "Riding over this area and missing the inlet... I almost thought, for a moment, the river was gone too."

There it was.

Something far more terrifying than having to face the grave of his childhood home, once so cruelly buried. The possibility of Xanthos and Simoeis, who had been such a stable feature in his life, if not permanently present at his side, might be gone too was a fear Ganymede hadn't had from the beginning. He hadn't even realized it was there for a good, long while. If it had had its seeds in the deaths of his parents, he didn’t know, but it certainly had taken root after the destruction of Troy.

" _Ganymede_ ," Xanthos said, his voice so deep it for a moment wasn't a human voice at all, but rather the combined sound of the river flowing past them, the weight of water all around when one dives under the surface. Xanthos pulled back, clutching Ganymede by the shoulders, his cheeks, then pulled him close again, a hand cradling the back of his head, undoubtedly having intended to bury into his hair but thwarted by the turban. "Don't borrow fears that are near impossible, and at a timescale even now quite useless to consider."

"But---"

"Grandson." Gentle rebuke, there, and Ganymede closed his eyes and nodded. "I can with all confidence and certainty tell you that I am at no risk of death happening to me within the foreseeable future. And the foreseeable future I am capable of imagining is far longer than you are. You've lived long, but are still more human than not."

Wry in voice and smile both as he pulled back to give Ganymede a firm look, it pulled a smile from Ganymede. A little sheepish, but a smile nonetheless.

"I suppose that's true. Otherwise I wouldn't worry about that at all, would I?" Strangely enough, that was a relief to think, and the realisation wasn't lessened when his grandfather nodded. Such fears wouldn't be so easily dismissed, but the river gods would be going nowhere.

"Now, up with you. We will have dinner later, and I'll fetch your great-grandfather for it. Idaea will be there as well."

Exhaling, Ganymede tugged the hem of his trousers down and pulled his boots back on, all without having to dry his feet as they were dry when he pulled them out of the water. He shot his grandfather a lopsided smile as he stood up. That his grandmother would be there was nice. She was rather elusive, always had been, which could have as much to do with being naturally averse to getting too close to mortals as it was that she was an oread, and Mount Ida was reasonably far from Troy. Maybe if the city had been clinging to the mountain's foothills she would've been closer to the royal family of Troy and Dardania, but the city was out on the plain, close to the sea and cradled between the Scamander and Simoeis.

"And," Xanthos added, turning Ganymede back by the sound of his voice, a silent question on his face urging his grandfather to continue, "be careful, Ganymede. The patrols from the fort have little reason to go by the hill often, that's true, but they sometimes do anyway."

"That's what the clothes are for, Grandfather," Ganymede said with an easy shrug, his little smile almost as bright as it usually was. 

Only almost, though, and Ganymede's mood started sliding backwards again as he crossed the plain for the hill. The grass was long and untrampled, though in the distance he could see scattered sheep grazing with their shepherd a dark smudge against the rise in the land beyond them. The ground was soft and thick, stones and earth under his feet. If there were weapons and chariots and skeletons of men and horses still buried here, they would be very far below the surface, no chance of stepping on something to injure the feet, not now. Not when there weren't any ruins of the town to see. Certainly not on the plain, but not on the hill either. What was there at the top wouldn't be near any version of the town Ganymede might have considered familiar. 

For that, he'd have to dig.

Weaving around the widely spaced olive trees around the bottom of the hill, Ganymede climbed it with a certain amount of internal cursing and questioning his decision to go with quite so long of an outer coat - caftan, he knew, yes, but that wasn't the word in his mind - having to fight the weeds and grass and small bushes until the ground evened out.

Ganymede stopped there, right at the cusp of the uneven top of the hill, and stared.

There was nothing to see, of course. Not really. He’d known there wouldn't be. Nothing of what he might have wanted to see, for again he'd have to dig for it. He was pretty sure he could tell the hill was taller than it should be, looking out over the top and the view beyond. 

There were trees and bushes and rocks scattered around the top. Some of them may even have been bits and pieces of buildings, probably from the Roman Ilion or the short occupation during the Eastern Roman Empire, but it was hard to tell. Even those were weather-worn and only fragments.

There was nothing here that was familiar, and his heart ached.

Swallowing heavily, Ganymede slowly started walking again - nowhere in particular, really, for there was nowhere to go, but just turning around now that he'd come up here seemed, if not cowardly, then ridiculous. He circled the whole top once, then, on his second round, tried to orient himself with the views offered of the landscape, attempting some idea of where things had once stood from where he remembered what view ought to have been seen from where. That, too, soon had him gritting his teeth, a tight, tingling tension in his limbs that prickled uncomfortably. The lack of the inlet was throwing him off, and of course the rest of the landscape had changed at least somewhat with so much time passed, but---

Squatting down on a jutting bit of a rise with a rough little tree on it, Ganymede sunk down over himself and hid his face in his hands.

There was nothing here.

There was more left of Troy in his own rooms, than here. There, he had the blanket Zeus had taken the night before Troy fell, the clothes and fillet he'd worn when _he'd_ been taken, and the ring Ilus had pressed into his hand the night their parents died. There was, too, a couple Luwian vases and jars, another ring and a length of woven fabric, never made into any clothing because he couldn’t decide what he’d like to be made of it, all of them bought elsewhere and later, but still closer in time to the existence of the Troy he remembered than the nothing that was here now.

He felt...

He didn't know what he felt. 

His limbs were heavy and his heart no less so, but there were no tears spilled into the darkness of his palms as Ganymede sat there. The lack of anything familiar hurt, yes, but it didn’t ache so terribly bad as he’d feared for so long that it would. Maybe that was the best he could hope for, for now. 

Ganymede sat there for a long time, listening to the wind and imagining the brush of it through the leaves were the ghostly echoes of conversations long past. He only stirred when he picked up the noise of an approaching group of people from somewhere behind, coming up the opposite end of the hill. 

A pretty large group of people, in fact. Frowning, and entirely reluctant to have to face anyone, Ganymede scrubbed his dry, tense face and looked over his shoulder.

That wasn't a patrol.


	2. A Lesson For the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes mistakes are made, and Ganymede's first mistake doesn't even happen on top of Troy's hill, but it's certainly the biggest one as he confronts the people who've come to visit as he has. Lived experience matters little when temper comes into play, and then there's stubbornness and pride to account for as well, when Ganymede drags things out to avoid the easiest avenue of help he can get.

The large group of armed soldiers and a handful of rather well-dressed men around the one clearly invested with both the greatest authority between them all and the finest clothing, was far too large to be anything but an escort of some kind. For the man in the center, most certainly, though who he was, Ganymede couldn't tell. Not at this distance anyway, though it was doubtful getting closer would tell him anything. It wasn't like he paid that close attention to the men in charge of the lands stretching out below Olympos. The events, sometimes, especially lately, what with the Osmanli Devleti expanding as it had through the last couple centuries and swallowing the whole of Anatolia and Sultan Mehmed II taking Constantinople ten years ago. That particular battle and the three days afterwards Ganymede had paid as little attention to as possible, though that wasn't unusual. He had little stomach for the fall of cities to armies and what that led to, even now.

Eyeing the group, Ganymede considered moving from his spot, but they seemed to either not have noticed him yet, or, if they had, probably assumed him to be of the group and already wandered off. Either would suit him. It didn't really matter why they were here, and they should have no reason to linger particularly long. There wasn't, after all, anything here of any worth.

His stomach twisted at the thought, against the cold heaviness of the rest of him, and Ganymede suppressed a wry chuckle, feeling foolish. Why so upset at the truth, when it was such an old of one?

Occupied with his thoughts and the unfamiliar view that still left him disconcerted, Ganymede paid little attention to the group behind him as it spread out over the hill. The knot around the most important man, probably the new fort's commander if he was anyone, slowly wandered closer to Ganymede's spot. They stopped every so often, looking around, or thanks to distraction at their conversation. Finally, they drifted close enough for Ganymede to start picking up what was being said.

"---ity there's nothing left to see, but even so it's clear to anyone this would have been a magnificent spot for a city, once." The speaker had a nice, rich voice, deep and vibrant, though Ganymede was less listening to what was being said, the Turkish weaving in and out through his distracted thoughts, than he was to the cadence of it, as background noise. "Still, though there's little enough here to see, it's pleasing to know we have been able to pay respect to the great city that was once here and its inhabitants, avenging them by conquering the Greeks."

As laughing agreement rose up behind him, Ganymede went cold. The reason this time was entirely different from the one that had weighed him down since he'd set off for Troy's hill. Or, honestly, since he'd woken up, deciding today was the day he would pay an actual visit to the place he'd avoided for so long. Cold was followed by bubbling fury barely held back by his gritted teeth, a spring flood filling a river to bursting and straining at the banks, wishing to spill over and out onto the plain beyond.

He shouldn't, but the anger, straining, spilled over.

" _How dare you_." It was barely a hiss behind clenched teeth, muttered in Luwian before he could gather himself and switch to something that would be understood. "I don't think the Trojan people would need your arms or arm for their defense, since they're all dead," Ganymede snapped loudly as he turned around, stalking across the turf towards the speaker, ignoring all caution. 

This was stupid, he knew that. 

This was probably downright dangerous, but Ganymede couldn't stop himself. Not even when he got closer and realized that the speaker was even more well-dressed than he'd been able to tell from afar. That made it more than dangerous, but then, Ganymede had little to fear, in the end. Deliberately getting himself into trouble just because he did not need to fear death and could count on no real consequences of this being lasting, was probably terribly petty and a flagrant abuse of the great protection swathed around him, however.

Right now, he didn't care. Right now, there was anger sour like poison in his veins, and Ganymede only stopped when a sword was thrust between him and the well-dressed speaker, though he seemed to find little to fear and waved the soldier off.

"And what would you know of such things, boy?" For all of the dismissive address, the possible commander seemed genuinely curious. As well as amused, though there was an undercurrent of warning tension just barely revealed around the corners of his mouth before the beard softened and hid it. It was a very nice beard, dark and shining in the light from how well-groomed it was, but at the moment Ganymede found he cared little for admiring anything at all about this man.

"Anyone with a reasonably fit mind can learn to read," Ganymede said, raising his chin, lips pressed thin and eyes narrowed. "Anyone with an interest in literature and history would know the worth of reading the Iliad, and anyone with some common sense, if not deep knowledge of military matters, could tell that if a people is long dead, there is nothing left of them to avenge. Even less from a man who's conquered the land much like the Achaeans came to invade and conquer Troy and its sister cities. 

How dare you claim to come here as a righteous avenger, when your people hasn't been here long, and owned the land for even less time? The Greeks living here are as natural to the land now as the Trojans were then and your people are becoming, sir."

If he dared guess at a better title and terms of address he would have used it, even as angry as he was. Maybe he should have pretended to being Greek - the man would surely have understood him anyway, for Ganymede would hazard he had pretty extensive education - but it was too late for that. His Turkish might be much more recent than his Persian, but as the years passed and the people migrating to as well as conquering Anatolia had stayed and spread, Ganymede had reluctantly expanded his repertoire.

"'Sir'?" The man laughed loud enough it became a roar, and Ganymede steeled himself for the backhand that seemed to be coming from the soldier earlier waved off, but he was stopped again, the large hand barely twitching for the soldier to step back, looking angry still, while the commander - whatever else he was, he was clearly that much at least - reached out and snagged Ganymede by the chin, tipping his face up. Ganymede pressed his lips together even more tightly but didn't otherwise move or try to pull away. "Almost, I would tolerate such a term of address from a young man as beautiful as this, but for as well-read as you are, you clearly do not recognize your sultan."

Oh, no.

A trickle of angry heat became a sheepish, if not alarmed, flush, though there was little difference to Ganymede’s expression, already flushed hot by his anger as he was. This really was worse than he had supposed, but still there was little fear, and he was angry still. The man could have proclaimed to be the god he believed in and Ganymede wouldn't have regretted a single word he'd just said.

"My sultan," Ganymede amended, settling on the option that was the least unpleasant to him and lowering his gaze and lashes both to go with it. There wasn't just one breath that caught around him at that, which would certainly have been reasonably good for him if he was nothing more than a rich farmer's son, or a lower born noble or merchant, but he wasn't. The admiration or desire of these men, even the sultan himself, was neither of any threat nor fortune for him, compared to thousands of years ago, before the eagle. "I apologize for not addressing you properly."

He looked back up, stared Sultan Mehmed II straight in the eyes and shook his head; the hand on his chin fell away to his shoulder, but wasn't otherwise fully removed. "But I will not apologize for anything else."

Not entirely sure what to expect for such... well, if not flagrant disrespect, then disregard for the ultimate mortal authority of this land and his own safety in not bowing to a man both (apparently) well over a decade his senior and presumably of much greater status. Ganymede was left rather flabbergasted when what came out of the sultan's mouth next was nothing but a piece of poetry in Persian.

It was very well-chosen and beautifully spoken, too, and Ganymede had closed his eyes and tipped his head a little, listening even if he was still angry before he thought about it.

"I think," Mehmed said when he finished, patting his shoulder and switching back to Turkish, "that you are a terribly well-read and educated young man to be standing out in the middle of nowhere with only mean villages and a nearly finished fort nearby for refuge. Perhaps a little too well-dressed, as well. This fabric is very fine. And there's certainly neither horse nor carriage around here, other than the ones I have brought with me."

... Oops.

This time Ganymede did blush, and obviously so, clearing his throat and failing for a moment or two to find any words at all, though there was probably little he could say to avert any suspicion.

"I left my horse some distance away, my sultan," Ganymede said, and while that was the truth and he met the sultan's dark gaze evenly, certainly earnestly, he knew there was a weak point in his argument. Dark eyebrows rose up to hover around the bottom edge of the impressively large turban Mehmed wore, and he curled his lips just slightly, wry amusement clear.

"And if I sent my men out, or had you show me the place where your horse has been hitched, would we find one? Never mind an animal fine enough to suit your station?"

Well.

"... No, you wouldn't."

Mostly because showing a winged horse to random mortals was a bad idea. On the other hand Ganymede would certainly claim that Pegasus was more than fit for his station, both the one he'd been born in and the one he'd been raised to. He would have said yes if there was any other possibility to use, but with little choice it seemed better to tell a modified truth. Claiming his lie would offer a relatively short-lived window of respite, and wasn't really worth it.

"I am curious, then, who you'd claim to be, out here like this."

Trojan prince and Turkish sultan stared at each other, one expectant, the other caught out. Ganymede noted, uselessly and sourly, that he had by now lost any true advantage of height; Sultan Mehmed was taller than he was, though a mortal sort of taller, and he wasn't the only one. Where Ganymede would once have been tall among humans, he was now certainly firmly within average height. He'd never minded such living among the Deathless Ones, but the gods were gods, how could humans hope to compare to that? Apparently he wasn't so blasé about it when it came to other humans. It was a terribly silly thing to get stuck on right now, for he needed to come up with an actual answer, and had none that would redirect and diffuse the obvious curiosity he'd managed to stir. Would that it was only for how too-perfect and handsome he was, for that was honestly safer in a situation like this.

He'd made a mistake. By speaking up at all, but most notably in not choosing simpler clothes.

There were solid reasons for not doing so, yes, but far less so when one was standing on the top of an empty, rough hill with no towns or cities nearby. Being well-dressed to ward off too close scrutiny or suspicions was all very well on the streets of a populated city, but out here he did stand out. He'd just not wanted to admit to that, both because he was so awfully used to nice, expensive clothing and certainly liked it that way, as well as thanks to a bad experience back during Roman times. Being dressed as anything less than a citizen, however nicely, had been a bad idea then, and Ganymede had taken a very offended and firm lesson from it.

Now though, that, as well as his own pride had quite neatly hamstrung any simple explanation, and the longer he took to answer, the sharper that dark, inquisitive gaze got. It also allowed the sultan a lot of time to study him, and Ganymede was soon feeling a familiar prickle at the back of his neck, sliding down into his muscles to wind them tight. He wet his lips, just a peek of tongue, and the sense of sharpened attention on him from more than one direction was familiar. Also easier to bear than divine regard, but he was feeling a little too frustrated at himself, as well as a creeping worry for how far this might go, to take it with complete nonchalance.

Shifting on his feet, he sighed and dropped his gaze away, feeling really as young as he both was and wasn't.

"Athanasius, my sultan."

It was easier to deal with now compared to when he'd been fourteen, but it was a little unsettling still. Of course, he could end it easily - drawing Zeus' attention wouldn't be difficult, but he liked to think it wasn't necessary, just yet. Besides, he had family much closer than that, right now, and Xanthos would miss him if this dragged on too long.

" _Athanasius_." Mehmed drawled his name with perfect Greek pronunciation, nary a shade of any sort of accent, and Ganymede kept himself from squirming by a hair. Instead turned his face back up and nodded, wide-eyed and earnest.

"Yes."

"No title?"

Was it terribly self-important of him to feel pleased the sultan did assume he should have one, and probably not just because of how he was dressed? Not helpful in this situation, maybe, but Ganymede straightened a little anyway. Briefly considered if he should've used another name, but he wasn't so well-versed in Turkish culture and names that he could've chosen one that might not have been glaringly strange in some way and made himself out to be, at the least, even more off than he already had. Besides, faltering on giving his name would have made it all the more obviously false, and Ganymede had been using Athanasius for a very long time by now. Both because he found it funny and true, as well as that it was a perfectly legitimate name.

"I was born a prince, my sultan," Ganymede said with a shrug, deciding he would hold to the truth on this one as well, even if there was no ruling family within any reasonable distance he could claim to belong to. The reasons being that he honestly had no idea who did rule what right now, aside from the ten-year-since fallen Eastern Roman Empire, and because he was, still, standing up here on Troy's hill with no escort and no obvious conveyance to have taken him here. Ganymede just didn’t have much of an idea what would be a better solution when he did have too little knowledge of current geopolitics to claim a title that might be believable. The Sultan had already come to the conclusion something was strange about him, and while piling fuel on the fire wouldn't help him, at this point it seemed to him that as long as he tread carefully, it would probably not harm him, either.

"I think I would have heard if the Roman Imperial family harboured a jewel such as this in their crown," Mehmed said, to a chorus of quiet, but agreeing, chuckles from his well-dressed... advisors? Nobles who might be important for the fort when it was finished? Ganymede didn't have a clue. It mattered little. _They_ mattered not at all.

"I haven't claimed to be either Hellen or Roman," Ganymede said, feeling picky, as he arched his eyebrows perhaps a tad too pointedly. Problem was, his usually quiescent temper, already unfortunately roused at the beginning of this, bared it's teeth like a cornered lion at the implication, compliment or no compliment. He was not, and had never been, anything other than Luwian, and he would hold to that even if he'd certainly spent an unimaginably long time soaked in the same culture the deathless gods wrapped themselves in, which was, admittedly, that of the Hellenes. Maybe it would be more fitting to give in and say he was such, but Ganymede had never been able to. He was not going to, either.

"You haven't, that's true." Mehmed gave him a long, searching stare, which partway through turned softly distracted and Ganymede ducked his head, refusing to blush for it but not remaining unaffected either. "Perhaps you might enlighten me as to your origins back at the fort."

"Back at---" Ganymede looked back up with a snap of his raised head, and it wasn't that he hadn't expected it, really, but maybe he'd hoped for a simple solution. Hoped for the sultan to not let his curiosity - as well as other interests - get the better of them both. But why wouldn't he? Ganymede had, through his ridiculous fumbling, dangled a mystery in front of a clearly very clever man. Said man now raised an eyebrow, eyes dark, and Ganymede looked away, silently acquiescing while contemplating his chances of running away. He certainly would have the stamina for it, but with the simple number of people on the sultan's side, he would be terribly lucky indeed to avoid them all.

Ganymede went quietly alongside the sultan, his hand still on his shoulder, if only because he still felt deeply embarrassed over how he'd messed this whole thing up. It'd serve him right, honestly, if he did have to call Zeus' attention to himself to get out of this. He was still hoping for his grandfather to come looking before he had to do that. It wasn’t just about how long this might take, as it would also depend on what the sultan would choose to do before Xanthos might go looking. For now, Ganymede was willing to trust that there was plenty of time. Trust, and stubborn enough to risk it. 

Throwing a look behind him to the hill as they left, Ganymede's throat briefly closed up again, seeing how empty it was. It still didn't look right, that or the empty stretch of land and olive groves around the hill. His heart still told him there should be a city there, despite that Troy, at this point, had existed for a much shorter time than this hill had stood without buildings on or around it. 

Despite that depressing thought, it felt a little less like crushing impossibility to look at the hill, but that might just be because he had other things to concern him at the moment. 

It didn't take very long to reach the fort, clearly almost finished, but there wasn't much chance to actually look around - and Ganymede was trying to not stare too obviously in curiosity. There were too many different ways that could be taken, and while, again, he had little to fear, he really should try to not dig the hole deeper.

As the door closed behind them after a servant had come in and put a tray filled with a number of small bowls and platters with various foodstuffs on a table, Ganymede had to wonder if the hole wasn't already deeper than he could climb out of. He sat opposite of Mehmed both because there was little reason to offend him by not doing so, and it offered another short moment of not talking, however brief. The man's eyes were on him the whole time, even as he allowed a little while for Ganymede to actually consider the tray and collect a couple things. He just couldn't help himself; food was an indulgence, even if he had the finest of divine nectar and ambrosia at his fingertips every moment of the day, and there was certainly nothing wrong with the Turkish cuisine.

"So, Athanasius Çelebi," Mehmed said, and Ganymede looked up, surprised for the title the sultan had appended. The man across from him smiled, dark-eyed and pointed but amused. Whether or not he actually believed Ganymede's claim to royalty, he was clearly willing to afford it some weight. "Perhaps you'd like to elaborate on your claim, and explain what you were doing up on Troy's hill, without so much as a horse or servant attending?"

Sultan Mehmed sat leaned back on the low, wide couch, not quite sprawled. Such a word couldn’t quite encompass the easy elegance and authority imbued in the way he possessed the space available, a small bowl held in one hand. Ganymede might have been both intimidated and impressed if he hadn't spent the last few thousand years surrounded by gods, and even more so Zeus. He could still appreciate it, perhaps even more so because he felt he had little reason to be afraid. Rather more awkwardly embarrassed about how he'd messed all of this up.

"I was there for a similar reason as yourself, paying respects to a city long past." Ganymede had to look away from that piercing stare, somewhere between warmly patient and appreciative and inquisitive as it was. 

He took a moment to take a bite of the food, just to give himself another few seconds, and glanced back up, past his lashes. He wished he could just say _without spouting self-righteous political posturing in the course of said respects_ , but he wasn't angry enough now to do so unthinkingly, and it would be more than stupid to do it knowingly, no matter the protection he had. If the sultan reacted immediately, nothing could react quickly enough to keep him from harm; retaliation would come later, in that case, and Ganymede just wasn't willing to risk actual divine retribution on the sultan. There'd been enough of such things to last lifetimes, and Ganymede didn’t want to be the reason for it to happen again. 

"And while my father was a king and my oldest brother succeeded him, I have nothing but my word to prove that; they are nowhere near here, my sultan."

While they'd all been buried in Troy or Dardanos and were technically very close by, thousands of years between then and now didn't make for an easy alibi. It did at least let him say that and mean it, for it was as true as it could be. For some reason Mehmed's eyes narrowed and he flapped a hand sharply.

"Take off your turban."

"What..?" Ganymede blinked, flabbergasted, but slowly put the platter he'd been holding down and went to do as asked. It was rude, he was pretty sure - not entirely certain, only aware the headgear was important for some indicator of status - but it mattered little to him, and he was curious as to the sultan's reason for demanding it in response to his answer. He could see no immediate connection. So he unwound the long length of cloth and dropped the messy pile of fabric on the couch beside him, shaking his head to settle his curls and looked up to a faintly indrawn breath. Ganymede straightened up a little, raising his chin and met the sultan's struck gaze - quickly hidden behind something sharper - evenly. The admiration was neither unfamiliar nor unexpected, and Sultan Mehmed wasn't unattractive, so were the situation any different at all he might have preened a little. As it was, Ganymede sat still.

"... Well, not from the north, then."

Ganymede smothered his startled laughter into a snort, shaking his head. "Oh, no. Not at all, my sultan. But--- you must be aware there are plenty of blond people in Anatolia and Hellas."

"Perhaps," Mehmed said with slow darkness weighing his tone as he looked his 'guest' over once more, not quite able to look away from the luscious cascade of curls spilling down to Ganymede's shoulders, sweetly dark brown aside from where summer's bleaching lingered, "but either of those are not so terribly far away, and I would certainly know of any prince within my borders."

Well. True. Ganymede looked down, taking refuge in his food again for couple moments, weighing his options once more, wishing he could see some easy way to turn Mehmed's interest away. Well, away from the curiosity of Ganymede being here and how he'd presented himself, if not the expected interest in a breathlessly stunning youth. The latter would undoubtedly have happened no matter what Ganymede had said and even if he'd dressed himself as a local peasant. Maybe it was better to be as direct as he could be about this..?

"My sultan," Ganymede said, looking up once more and pausing in practically drowning a piece of wrapped something that reminded him of a thrion in the sauce he was stabbing it into, "it'd be easier for both of us if you accept there are no answers I will give you that will satisfy you."

"Easier. For _both_ of us." There was a warning there, but Ganymede didn't heed it as he met Mehmed's previously warm eyes, his own gaze firmly even despite the prickle of unease in his gut. He really had no way to know if any protection would come soon enough if the sultan acted, could only hope it would. Still, watching the man, Ganymede was certainly sure he wouldn't actually like, or want, the truth. If he could even accept it as anything but heresy and blasphemy, he would still not react well to finding out there were more than just the one god. Ganymede claiming he was immortal would probably be taken much the same.

"Yes, my sultan."

Mehmed sighed and stood up, frowning now. "I am not intending to rule you through fear, but I expect answers, and the truth, when I ask for them. What you feel willing to give me doesn’t feature into that. Perhaps you need a lesson in the proper respect due your padishah."

Ganymede suppressed his grimace just barely, shifting sideways on the couch as the sultan rounded the table - stopped, at a knock on the door. Mehmed looked from Ganymede to the door, and Ganymede did the same, then back, wide eyed and seemingly hapless, though in his mind the first syllable of a prayer trembled like a hound held back from a scent it'd just caught, eager to follow and near vibrating with the need to run.

"Enter."

The man who came in bowed low and stayed there as he spoke up; "Padişah efendim, a message has arrived from Constantinople."

Ganymede held his breath while Mehmed glanced between the servant in the doorway and Ganymede for a brief moment. It was clear to see the sultan would not neglect such a thing, regardless of how offended he was, or how curious. Or how attracted he was to the youth sitting on the couch. The dark glance shot at Ganymede over the sultan's shoulder as he crossed the floor was sharp, and Ganymede looked away from it mostly to hopefully instil some sense of victory in the man rather than being trembling and cowed for it.

"The door will be locked, and we are several floors up above the ground. Please remain here quietly and take your pleasure from the food available."

That was both terribly pointed and surprisingly polite. Ganymede let his breath out in an explosive huff as soon as the door closed - and, indeed, was locked. His stomach turned, and he had to drop back against the couch and stare up at the whitewashed ceiling for a moment. Clearly he'd been more worried than he'd thought, regardless of knowing he was actually as safe as he could be without literally standing next to Zeus. 

Talking of Zeus...

Clapping his hands over his face, Ganymede groaned as he dragged them down, nails biting gently into his skin. Did he risk waiting for Xanthos and Simoeis, perhaps wasting this respite, or did he swallow his embarrassment and pray to Zeus right now, so he could come and help him out of here? He'd need help either way, he knew; trying to sneak out of here would be downright impossible, since, whatever skill Ganymede did have in stealth, it certainly wasn't professional or divine enough to give him what he would at the moment need. 

Grimacing at the ceiling, Ganymede straightened up and finished what he'd begun of the food he'd taken, loath to waste it though his opportunity might be slipping away. It was just... Zeus would take the entirely wrong thing from this! He didn't need overactive protectiveness, as hot as Zeus could be when he was angry about Ganymede's safety, to get in the way of anything he might choose to do for the foreseeable future. So---

The door opened, and Ganymede froze, cursing himself for stupid. Stared uncomprehending at the two soldiers in the doorway until they stepped in and closed the door behind them. His heart kicked up to race in the back of his throat, and he'd silently spilled through the first half of the first two words of the prayer when the appearance of the grim-faced, bearded and turbaned men shifted.

" _Ganymede_ \---" Xanthos said, sounding pained, but Simoeis interrupted him, still looking rather grim compared to Xanthos' more pinched expression.

"I'm sure we should've expected this, somehow," he said, and Ganymede flushed, looking down at his knees, "but it's a relief to see you are unharmed, Ganymede."

The warmth, even if exasperated, in Simoeis' voice had Ganymede look back up again and he smiled, a creeping, shyly lopsided thing as he got up, leaving the pile of cloth for the turban where it lay, and took the river gods' hands as they reached for him. "It's not for the reason you think!"

They stared at him, brows arched and expressions pointed, and Ganymede was blushing again, though he stubbornly met their gazes, refusing to look away again.

"... Only _partially_ for the reason you think," he amended with a shake of his head. "I could probably have gone unnoticed if I hadn't spoken up, but the sultan claimed he had _avenged the Trojans_ by conquering the Greeks, and I couldn't just--- _not_ say something!"

"Perhaps," Simoeis said slowly, sharing a look with Xanthos that had Ganymede smiling before Simoeis continued speaking, "we can keep this between us. No need to disturb Zeus with every little mishap, especially as you've come to no harm."

Ganymede smothered his laughter as Simoeis opened the door and Xanthos threw an arm around Ganymede's shoulder, pulling him close against his side. Ganymede could admit to the relief suffusing him, then, with his grandfather to one side and his great-grandfather to the other as the river gods wrapped a thick mist of misdirection around the three of them to allow them to walk out of the fort unnoticed and undisturbed. 

He might have spared half of a thought to how surprised Sultan Mehmed would undoubtedly be when he found the still-locked room empty of anything aside from the turban cloth, but he wasn't so eager for that expression so as to suggest they stay, invisible in some corner of that room, to see it.

He would much rather have a meal with the closest family he still did have, and then go back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was very much an experiment, and I'm not sure I'll try to do historical RPF this involved again, ahah. But it was interesting, and I hope it's not too bad.
> 
> In terms of historicity, Mehmed II visit to Troy is pretty probable, but his proclamation about avenging Troy by conquering the Greeks should probably be taken with a larger pinch of salt. It did however suit me to go with that that's something he did say, obviously, hence this part of the fic.


End file.
